


We Aren't Heroes

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles knows he and Rachel need to talk. Post 1x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Aren't Heroes

He was afraid to touch her.

He was was afraid to even think about touching her.

Careful not to stand too close when they stopped for water, he always found an excuse to go on another scouting mission with Nora, and made sure Charlie or Aaron or someone always slept between them (if he slept at all).

The memory of the slap was all he would let himself feel.

He deserved the guilt, not a gentle touch. Rachel to him had always been constant, but the years that came between them had done just that and her tired, injured eyes told him that she was not the same. Whatever perverted, twisted comfort they had once shared was over.  
  
Still, he noticed those moments when they would lose her in the middle of a discussion, blue eyes hazy and distant, unfocused on the present. He avoided her as much as possible, but he was always aware of where she was. He found uneasiness settled over him when he did not know.

It was Nora who finally spoke to him.

“Stop putting it off, Miles,” she said with quiet scorn as they kept guard together one night, “Talk to her.”

“There’s nothing going on—”

“Yeah, I’m no idiot. You’ve hardly looked at her. But she’s in pain and you know her best.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t put it off,” she warned.

Miles shook his head and turned away, feigning interest in the dark trees beyond camp.

“Let’s go hunting,” he said to her the next day, as she sat scribbling in a journal she had found.

Rachel glanced up, skeptical and surprised, as he reached out a tense hand to help her up.

They wandered away from camp, not lost but certainly not with any true destination. Except for Miles’ ever present sword and a small knife Rachel kept hidden in her boot, all other weapons had been left behind; no one believed they meant to bring back food.

Their wandering found them in a suburban neighborhood, abandoned brick houses devoid of life. A swimming pool stood half full of rain water. Miles stooped and swung his legs over the edge to comfortably sit.

Rachel stayed on her feet.

They remained that way for a while, the silence growing heavy as dusk began to fall. A banging around the side of the house startled both. Miles prepared to draw as Rachel eyed a pile of rags and broken glass. They relaxed again when a raccoon darted out and around the fence to the woods beyond.

Eventually, Rachel slowly squatted next to Miles, then joined him; their legs dangled over the edge, childlike.

“I’m sorry,” came his first words, clunky and inadequate.

She did not look at him, instead examining the junk collecting in the dingy water.

“We thought you were dead and that Bass had—”

He stopped at Bass, Monroe, General, all the variations he had been to them, for the man who pursued them was there even now.

She stayed looking ahead and he wanted her to say anything, to convince him that she had not gone completely numb.

Her shoulders rose and fell, simple breaths as she turned her face towards him.

“Thank you for bringing Charlie.”

The sound of her voice was stronger than he had expected. He did not know what he had expected; she had never been less than strong.

Miles smiled at that.

“She’s….” He paused, searching for the right words. “She’s young.”

Rachel smiled slightly back. The sadness and longing and regret flickered ever so briefly across her face, but he saw it.

“Not as young as I remember.”

It was Miles’ turn to break eye contact.

The wind had picked up, scattering debris across the cracked tiles and pavement and sending an unwelcome chill through his thin shirt and jacket. Rachel’s hair whipped mercilessly around until the breeze died down for a bit.

He felt her shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“Miles…” she pressed.

His name from her voice sounded foreign, an unknown language he wanted so desperately to make sense.

“I thought you were dead.” His voice caught, but the meaning was plain— _where do we go from here?_

She slipped her hand into his.

“I’m alive.”

A soft reminder she spoke. He remembered her as soft, soft hair and voice and hands.

The hand in his now was calloused, older and scarred. Very little of her was probably still as soft.

“Did he—” Miles fingered his wrist next to hers. “Did he brand you?”

“No.”

Both tread carefully, knowing they each had the tools to cut too deep.

“He was gentle,” she muttered, weighing the relief of sharing with his growing guilt, “which was worse.”

Miles had nothing to respond with but a deep breath, concern clouding his face.

A breeze picked up again, but neither moved. They were close enough for one’s warmth to help the other.

“Miles, the blackout happened because of me.”

The words floated so easily out, but his response never came, nor did anything they should have said, needed to say to make their world whole again; instead, her words bounced right back against the concrete and the silence and the years between them filled in the rest.

_(the blackout happened because of me_

_made worse by men like me you_

_were trying to help so were_

_you have we paid for_

_our sins yet what_

_do we deserve_

_we aren’t_

_heroes)_

“What do we do?”

In the dim light, neither could make out the other.

“We fix it.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...at first I was like kill it with fire about this relationship, but after reading an interview with Elizabeth Mitchell talking about how it worked better than she thought it should because both characters have so much pain and guilt in their past made me at least consider it. Join this with the fact that Mitchell can have chemistry with anything and the two seconds of them in one of the more recent promos that didn’t make me cringe, and you have me actually wanting to write something to see if I could make myself like it. So basically I really hope this isn’t too cheesy/cliche because I tried to play against what a typical reunion could have been like. Thanks for reading!


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